


How to Taste Delicious

by herprinceofdarkness



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Innunedo, Maybe? Im not sure, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprinceofdarkness/pseuds/herprinceofdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your blood tastes like shit, you know that? Like actual shit." </p><p>- post S01E17 Let The Right One In.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Taste Delicious

**Author's Note:**

> Just something fun I decided to write based off of this tumblr post:
> 
> http://lifeandeathbrigade.tumblr.com/post/89797943873/krazykitsune-leupagus-jaaaaaaaaaackfrost

Alaric had all but forgotten about the vampire that attacked his neck from the top of the stairs once he and Damon opened the door to find the whole house encircled with vampires. Out numbered and with only one vervain syringe left, they retreated back inside. It wasn’t until after Pearl and Damon’s bizarre confrontation when he was settling back into the car that he let himself relax and release the built up tension in his muscles.

"Ooh, someone got you good in the neck," Damon commented from the seat next to him. Before Ric could even process what he was talking about, the vampire had swiped two fingers over his bloodied wound and brought them to his lips.

"What the fuck?" they both said almost synonymously.

"I can’t believe you just did th-"

"Your blood tastes like shit, you know that? Like actual shit." Damon cut him off, a grimace marring his face. "That was disgusting."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Alaric stared at him in disbelief. "You honestly have the nerve to stick your fingers in my neck and taste my blood like it’s some hor d’oeuvre at a party?"

"Why Ric, if you really wanted me sticking my fingers in you, you should’ve just asked," he grinned lasciviously. "There are a lot more enjoyable places."

Aside from an insulting hand gesture, Alaric bit down the offensive retort bubbling at the tip of his tongue. Goddamn, it would surely only egg him on and he was way too tired to spare right now.

 _He was so sick of this guy_ , he thought. There were no words to describe the sense of frustration he felt every time Damon made some lewd comment or eye wiggle. The deep hatred that this man, _creature_ , could so brazenly walk around acting without a care in the world when he’s the one solely responsible for killing his wife.

 _Not killing her_ , he reminded himself. _Turning her_. Making her into the same kind of monster as him. Allowing her to run away and pretend to be dead, leaving everything behind.

He rubbed his forehead harshly at the conflicting thoughts in his head. He didn’t even know who he was angry with anymore.

"But really, I’m pretty sure you have anemia. Did you know that?" Damon spoke once again, breaking the silence within the car. "Maybe you should go see your doctor. You know they have medication for that now?"

 _And make it so I taste even better to you? Not fucking likely_ , he thought.

***

Three days later, there was a package propped against Alaric’s door. There were no stamps or postal markings, so it had to have been hand delivered.

He brought the small box into his apartment and slowly peeled back the tape sealing it shut. Inside was a folded piece of paper and a small bottle of iron supplements.

_Ric-_

_Despite our recent tiff (punching people is not nice), I haven’t forgotten about your little health dilemma. Take two of these everyday. Also, I took the liberty of calling your general practitioner and making you an appointment - tomorrow at 2pm._

_-DS_

He stood there staring at the note in his hands shocked. What the fuck? Who the hell did he think he was?

Enraged, he fumbled for his cell phone in his pocket and scrolled through to where Damon had added himself in. He paced the wooden floors impatiently waiting for the call to connect.

_"You’ve reached Damon Salvatore. State your business."_

"Just who the fuck gives you the right to tell me about my health? And how did you even find out who my doctor is? I swear to god, Damon, if you did anything to Dr. Nguyen, I’ll make you regret it. Leave me alone. Stay away from me. Seriously, I don’t want anything to do with you. So why don’t you just take your brother and go."

He huffed in frustration before hanging up.

***

Later that night, he heard his phone chime with a new text message. And then another and another.

_-What a touching voicemail. Really._

_-Did you take your iron yet today? Also, tomorrow, 2pm - don’t forget!_

_-I’ve heard vitamin D really helps. You should pick some up at the pharmacy._

He stared at the phone screen numbly. Unbelievable.

***

He was going to cancel his doctor’s appointment out of spite, but his self-preservation ultimately won in the end.

"You’re right, Mr. Saltzman. You have anemia just as your friend suggested," Dr. Nguyen said, reading over his test results attached to a clipboard. "It was very kind of him to worry about you."

"He’s not my friend," Ric grumbled under his breath.

***

From then on whenever Damon saw Ric at the Grill, he would make a point to remind him of his medication.

Just one more way that he could be a pain in the ass.

***

By the time summer rolled around, he, Damon, and Elena were spending almost everyday together: training, researching, scouting the news for any sign of where Stefan could be.

Their hostile antagonism long since dissipated, Ric had reluctantly began to consider Damon a friend. Not a very good friend, but one all the same.

Damon often cooked for the group, making a variety of italian dishes as well as modern, healthy meals. “God, this chicken florentine is delicious,” he complimented one night. “How did you learn to make this?”

"I’ve been using a new cookbook lately," Damon smirked imperceptibly. "I’ll mail you a copy."

***

The cookbook, it turns out, was _Anemia: The Iron Deficiency Diet_. Damon had taken it upon himself to scrawl across the cover in black Sharpie, “How to Taste Delicious ;)”

There were multiple post-its stuck within the pages that marked tons of dishes Ric could recall Damon making them all this summer, along with little annotations he made about how it turned out, how easy it was to prepare, little changes to the ingredients list.

_Un-fucking-believable._

***

_-Did you get the cookbook I sent you?_

_-I thought you were done with this shit, Damon. What the fuck. And yes, I got it._

_-I noticed a lot of the recipes have onions in them. Must be good for the blood._

_-STOP TREATING ME LIKE SOME TASTY MEAL! I’m not a thanksgiving turkey you can prime for eating!! I thought we were friends, Damon. What am I, just another human blood bag to you??? WTF._

_-You know you’re being pretty ungrateful. I think you’re hurting my feelings._

_-I’M CALLING THE POLICE._

***

He could only imagine Damon’s face when Liz showed up at his door. He had asked her to snap a picture for him, but she had rather sarcastically declined.

***

It wasn’t until hours later and a lot of bourbon that Alaric realized he wasn’t angry.

It’s not like Damon was actually planning on killing him. These stunts, these little games, were all just a poorly planned way of showing how much he cared for people without actually saying it.

For Christ’s sake, he had cooked iron rich foods specifically for his benefit for an entire summer. His own personal vampire dietitian, the mere thought made him snort in laughter.

***

"You know Liz actually threatened to put me in handcuffs?" Damon said immediately upon answering his call. "I told her it was a bit kinky, but if that’s the way she liked it…"

He barely contained a laugh. “I’m sure that went over real well.”

"No, but it did get her to leave pretty fast. Besides, Liz loves me. She thinks I’m hilarious."

"Sure she does, Damon," he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. He paused for a beat to grab the book from the coffee table near him, cradling his phone against his shoulder. "Anyway, I’m calling because I’m thinking about trying to make this spinach artichoke lasagna, but the notes you have here about the pasta are confusing."

"Yeah, the pasta is a little tricky on that one," Damon said. "But it’s definitely one of my favorites. And spinach is a great source of iron, you know."


End file.
